The Lady of the Lake Part 9

XIII

Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide 300 On fleeter foot was never tied.

Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste Thine active sinews never braced.

Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, Burst down like torrent from its crest; 305 With short and springing footstep pa.s.s The trembling bog and false mora.s.s; Across the brook like roebuck bound, And thread the brake like questing hound; The crag is high, the scar is deep, 310 Yet shrink not from the desperate leap: Parched are thy burning lips and brow.

Yet by the fountain pause not now; Herald of battle, fate, and fear, Stretch onward in thy fleet career! 315 The wounded hind thou track'st not now, Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace, With rivals in the mountain race; But danger, death, and warrior deed, 320 Are in thy course--speed, Malise, speed!

XIV

Fast as the fatal symbol flies, In arms the huts and hamlets rise; From winding glen, from upland brown, They poured each hardy tenant down. 325 Nor slacked the messenger his pace; He showed the sign, he named the place, And, pressing forward like the wind, Left clamor and surprise behind.

The fisherman forsook the strand, 330 The swarthy smith took dirk and brand; With changed cheer, the mower blithe Left in the half-cut swathe the scythe; The herds without a keeper strayed, The plow was in mid-furrow stayed, 335 The falc'ner tossed his hawk away, The hunter left the stag at bay; Prompt at the signal of alarms, Each son of Alpine rushed to arms; So swept the tumult and affray 340 Along the margin of Achray.

Alas, thou lovely lake! that e'er Thy banks should echo sounds of fear!

The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep So stilly on thy bosom deep, 345 The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud Seems for the scene too gaily loud.

XV

Speed, Malise, speed! the lake is past, Duncraggan's huts appear at last, And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen, 350 Half hidden in the copse so green; There mayst thou rest, thy labor done, Their Lord shall speed the signal on.

As stoops the hawk upon his prey, The henchman shot him down the way. 355 --What woeful accents load the gale?

The funeral yell, the female wail!

A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, A valiant warrior fights no more.

Who, in the battle or the chase, 360 At Roderick's side shall fill his place!-- Within the hall, where torches' ray Supplies the excluded beams of day, Lies Duncan on his lowly bier, And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 365 His stripling son stands mournful by, His youngest weeps, but knows not why; The village maids and matrons round The dismal coronach resound.

XVI

CORONACH

He is gone on the mountain, 370 He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest.

The font, reappearing, From the raindrops shall borrow, 375 But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow!

The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are h.o.a.ry, But the voice of the weeper 380 Wails manhood in glory.

The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. 385

Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in c.u.mber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber!

Like dew on the mountain, 390 Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain Thou art gone, and forever!

XVII

See Stumah, who, the bier beside, His master's corpse with wonder eyed-- 395 Poor Stumah! whom his least halloo Could send like lightning o'er the dew, Bristles his crest, and points his ears, As if some stranger step he hears.

'Tis not a mourner's m.u.f.fled tread, 400 Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, But headlong haste, or deadly fear, Urge the precipitate career.

All stand aghast--unheeding all, The henchman bursts into the hall; 405 Before the dead man's bier he stood; Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood: "The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!"

XVIII

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 410 Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign.

In haste the stripling to his side His father's dirk and broadsword tied; But when he saw his mother's eye Watch him in speechless agony, 415 Back to her opened arms he flew, Pressed on her lips a fond adieu-- "Alas!" she sobbed--"and yet be gone, And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!"

One look he cast upon the bier, 420 Dashed from his eye the gathering tear, Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast, And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed, First he essays his fire and speed, 425 He vanished, and o'er moor and moss Sped forward with the Fiery Cross.

Suspended was the widow's tear, While yet his footsteps she could hear; And when she marked the henchman's eye 430 Wet with unwonted sympathy, "Kinsman," she said, "his race is run, That should have sped thine errand on; The oak has fallen--the sapling bough Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 435 Yet trust I well, his duty done, The orphan's G.o.d will guard my son.

And you, in many a danger true, At Duncan's hest your blades that drew, To arms, and guard that orphan's head! 440 Let babes and women wail the dead."

Then weapon-clang and martial call Resounded through the funeral hall, While from the walls the attendant band s.n.a.t.c.hed sword and targe, with hurried hand; 445 And short and flitting energy Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, As if the sounds to warrior dear, Might rouse her Duncan from his bier.

But faded soon that borrowed force; 450 Grief claimed his right, and tears their course.

XIX

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire; It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire.

O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; 455 The tear that gathered in his eye He left the mountain breeze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll Betwixt him and a wooded knoll That graced the sable strath with green, 460 The chapel of St. Bride was seen.

Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the dark waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, 465 He dashed amid the torrent's roar.

His right hand high the crosslet bore, His left the pole-ax grasped, to guide And stay his footing in the tide.

He stumbled twice--the foam splashed high; 470 With hoa.r.s.er swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen--forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir!

But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, 475 Until the opposing bank he gained, And up the chapel pathway strained.

XX

A blithesome rout, that morning tide, Had sought the chapel of St. Bride.

Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 480 To Norman, heir of Armandave.

And, issuing from the Gothic arch, The bridal now resumed their march.

In rude, but glad procession, came Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame; 485 And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, Which snooden maiden would not hear: And children, that, unwitting why, Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; And minstrels, that in measures vied 490 Before the young and bonny bride, Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose The tear and blush of morning rose.

With virgin step, and bashful hand, She held the kerchief's snowy band; 495 The gallant bridegroom, by her side, Beheld his prize with victor's pride, And the glad mother in her ear Was closely whispering word of cheer.

XXI

Who meets them at the churchyard gate? 500 The messenger of fear and fate!

Haste in his hurried accent lies, And grief is swimming in his eyes.

All dripping from the recent flood, Panting and travel-soiled he stood, 505 The fatal sign of fire and sword Held forth, and spoke the appointed word: "The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!"

And must he change so soon the hand, 510 Just linked to his by holy band, For the fell Cross of blood and brand?

And must the day, so blithe that rose And promised rapture in the close, Before its setting hour, divide 515 The bridegroom from the plighted bride?

O fatal doom!--it must! it must!

Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust, Her summons dread, brook no delay; Stretch to the race--away! away! 520

XXII

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride, Until he saw the starting tear Speak woe he might not stop to cheer; Then, trusting not a second look, 525 In haste he sped him up the brook, Nor backward glanced, till on the heath Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith.

--What in the racer's bosom stirred?

The sickening pang of hope deferred, 530 And memory, with a torturing train Of all his morning visions vain.

Mingled with love's impatience came The manly thirst for martial fame; The stormy joy of mountaineers, 535 Ere yet they rush upon the spears; And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning, And hope, from well-fought field returning, With war's red honors on his crest, To clasp his Mary to his breast. 540 Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae, Like fire from flint he glanced away, While high resolve, and feeling strong, Burst into voluntary song.

XXIII

SONG

The heath this night must be my bed, 545 The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread, Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my b.l.o.o.d.y plaid, 550 My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid!